Shayne chuckled crazily and sank back. He lapsed into silence until Rourke neared the sanitarium, then sat up and directed, “Pull around to the side or back. I’ve got to get in without being seen.”
Rourke’s teeth chattered when he said, “I’ve heard of breaking out of one of these dumps, but I never knew anyone who wanted to break in before. You’re still drunk, Mike.” He slowly circled around the block and stopped at the rear in the shadow of the thick hedge outside the ten-foot wall.
“Keep the kitty purring.” Shayne chuckled as he got out. “I’m liable to come back in one hell of a hurry.”
Rourke compressed his lips to hold back a protest, nodded silently, and let the motor idle.
Shayne worked his way through the intertwined limbs of the hedge with difficulty. When he was within ten feet of the wall he got a running start, leaped up, and grabbed the flat top and swung himself over.
Inside the grounds a floodlight showed some of the inmates circling about aimlessly in the cool evening air. Keeping in the shadows of palms and Australian pines, he stealthily groped his way toward the group, studying them hopefully.
It was difficult to distinguish features in the dim light, but he finally picked out the figure of a little man who looked familiar. He waited until the man wandered nearer to him, then hissed, “Audentes fortuna juvat.”
The little man came to a sudden halt and jerked his head in Shayne’s direction, then casually detached himself from the others and moved aimlessly toward the crouching detective. An orderly who was supervising them paid no particular attention to the self-dubbed Sherlock Holmes.
He stopped in front of Shayne on his short legs and shook his head disapprovingly. “You shouldn’t have come so soon. It’s very dangerous.”
“Sure, I know, but we’re too smart for the Gestapo.” Shayne rose slowly until his face was level with that of the short, wizened man. He reached out and toyed with the zipper of the shapeless garment worn by him — identical with the attire of all the other inmates.